I'm here
by Firenze.Sun
Summary: Based on a fan art on Tumblr. While Sherlock finally goes back to the 221B, John goes to a certain hospital roof and plans to jump because he doesn't know that Sherlock is alive and is desperate to see him again. Rated T for suicide.
1. Chapter 1

_*Beep*_

_"I know that this is probably stupid and that there's no one to here it. But I wanted to leave something. Just li__ke you did..." pause, "This morning when I woke up, I knew I was going to see you again."_

John opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling. He had this new feeling inside him, that finally after this last three years, everything was going to be allright. He had retaken therapy, but it proved no good. The depression had gone bigger and bigger. There were many nights when he thought he will die of the sorrow, his chest would tighten and he'd forgot how to breath. And every night he cried till sleep took him.

But this morning it was different. This morning his chest felt lighter and this feeling accompanied him since he woke up. And with it, a resolution.

For the first time in months he cleant his room, he washed his own clothes and waited till there were dry and he folded them into the closet. He took out the garbage and washed the dishes.

Besides his bedroom there was not much to do, Mrs. Hudson took care of the rest. She wasn't her landlady but she did it out of pity. Once the kitchen and living room was taken care of he grabbed his keys and went outside.

_"You see, Sherlock, this three years w__ithout you has been hell. I tried to move on, I really did. But I just couldn't. I tried to speak with you at the cementery, and when it didn't work, I tried to imagine that you were there, with me at all times. But that didn't work either."_

It hadn't been hard to go to the roof of the hospital. It was easy, actually. He could see Sherlock on the edge, on the last moments of his life. The memories replayed in his head, his best friend's last moments, the last words, everything.

A tear went down John's face.

He walked to the edge of the roof, to the exact same spot where Sherlock had been three years ago. He took out his mobile phone and spoke for a while and cried a bit. But then he closed his mobile with one gesture and throw it away.

With his arms extended, John stood there waiting, rejoycing in the expectation of the reunion.

A couple of tears still adorned his face and a peaceful smiled curved his lips.

_"But you see, I'm not as clever as you, so it's not the same."_

_"And you know what kills me? I can't remember everything," his voice shook, "I try to remember all the things we did together, but I can't. I don't have your mind, Sherlock," he cried.'_

The key was still the same after all this years, and Sherlock used his old one. Today he came back to the 221B of Baker Street to tell John that it was over. Coronel Moran was defeated and he was not dead anymore.

As soon as he entered the shared flat he noticed that something was wrong. It was clean, too clean, but with his deductive mind he could notice that to the day before it has the dirt of months. He opened the fridge.

No food.

A message waited in the answering machine.

Sherlock pressed a button to hear it, John's voice came out. He didn't have to hear any of the words to know what was happening.

Sherlock fled out of the flat, and ran.

_"But then there're these things I remember crystal clear, like the shape of your eyes or the sound of your voice. But even that it's starting to fade. And I just can't take it," he sobbed._

_"Today is different, though. Today I'll see you again."_

A congregation of people had formed, all looking at the guy on the hospital roof. Sherlock ran, and despite knowing the futility of his attempt he screamed John's name. In his desperation, he didn't realized that he stopped at the exact same point where John had seen him fall.

With all the force he could manage and all the air of his lungs, he screamed, "I'm here!"

The words reached like a whisper to John's ears.

"You are," he said with his eyes closed.

And he jumped.

_"I was an idiot. I've spent this whole time in denial and I've never said to you. I was to worried telling everyone that I wasn't gay. Which I'm not."_

_"But I'm not straight either."_

"I'm his friend," Sherlock shouted to people so they would let him trough.

When he reached John's side, he kneeled, his body shaking already and took him in his arms. His hands got red from all the blood that was draining from his head. And clutching his best friend's body against him he cried.

"I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry," he cried desperately.

_"You see, Sherlock, what I've never told you... what I was so afraid to admit was..."_

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

_*beep*_


	2. Chapter 2

Well, so after the wonderful reviews I've got inspired and I wanted to make you cry some more.

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_"I love you, Sherlock."_

Lestrade was the first to know after the police received the call. Molly saw it in the news. They were only saying the place and interviewing some witnesses, no names, but you didn't had to be a genius to figure it out. She drop everything she was doing and went there.

She showed her card to be granted access, but she didn't cared for the body. She truly didn't. Instead she looked for him, but found Lestrade staring at Sherlock from a certain distance, his mouth gasping but no words came out.

Molly went to him and told him that it was allright. That Sherlock's suicide had been fake. She surely didn't wait the reaction that came from Lestrade.

"You!" he shouted, pointing at Sherlock who was sit at the back of am ambulance with a shock blanket over him. Lestrade walked angrily in his direction, "You!"

Sherlock looked at Lestrade with big red eyes, for once, he looked clueless.

"It was you fault, you asshole!" screamed Lestrade and he almost throwed his fists as Sherlock if it wasn't that Molly grabbed his arms.

"Please, Greg, no! Stop it!" she cried.

And after some struggling, Lestrade finally cried holding onto Molly.

Sherlock still kept a blank look.

"It is my fault," he whispered.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

He was back at the 221B of Baker Street. They had cleaned the blood from his hands at the hospital, but to Sherlock they were still red. As soon as he arrived, he sat next to the answering machine, and played the one message.

Four words kept stabbing at his heart.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

He didn't heard the sound of the keys at the door, but he did heard the footsteps. When Mycroft appeared infront of him, Sherlock looked at him with red eyes from crying. And for the first time in years, there wasn't any kind of resenment in that look, nor dislike. There was only a silent plea for help, for this nightmare to stop, for a miracle, for John to be alive.

"Sherlock," Mycroft's voice cracked.

He had never seen his brother in such a state, he had never thought it possible. But years of a broken relationship weren't fixed on a day, and all he could do was stand there and hold his look.

"Help!" screamed those eyes.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

Mycroft stayed with him at the flat. He knew his brother and he knew of what he was capable. He searched the entire place and threw away all kinds of drugs. He even took away the knives, he only left a couple of blunt ones.

And Sherlock let him do it. He actually didn't do anything. All day, he sat next to the answering machine, refusing to take any food. With the same four words playing in his head over and over again.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

The man who prided himself to be a sociopath was feeling. And he truly wished he was one, because his feelings were threating to kill him. But that had changed when he met who was going to be his best friend.

The man who defied everything he thought to know about himself. He had never felt attraction to anyone nor desired any physical contact. And he cried because the only time he had hugged him, it was to his lifeless body.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

He knew he could move on. Go back to the sociopath he was before meeting John, so he did. So the next day, along side his coat and scarf he wore a blank mask.

"Brother," he said totally composed to a surprised Mycroft, "I assume I have your help to put my papers in order."

Mycrof nodded. Without further ado Sherlock left to the police station.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

At the beggining Lestrade hated him. He despised him for lying and he blamed him for John's death. And he tought it insulting that Sherlock was acting as nothing.

But it was Molly who helped him to see the truth. Because when Sherlock thought that no one was seeing, the mask would crack and his eyes would reflect his true sadness.

Lestrade forgave him. He even fired Anderson the first time he said something hurtful to Sherlock about John. Maybe it was his imagination, what when he shouted to a complaining Anderson that he was lowering the IQ of the whole block, he would swear he saw a tiny smile on Sherlock's lips. Or so he hoped.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

It had been five years, and each day it was harder to maintain the mask. Each day, the same four walls would drill another crack into the mask.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

And when the day came that the mask exploded into a million pieces, he grabbed his gun. With the kneels to his chest, he sat on the sofa.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

It was unberable. It had become too much. It was a voice that covered all other, that filled his Mind Palace. The same four words flooded his brain.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

It had to stop. He could't take it anymore.

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

Someone, please, anything, help!

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

Enough, was enough!

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

Please!

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

_"I love you, Sherlock."_

...

"I love you too, John."

_BOOM!_

No notes, no voice mail, no anything. Only a red stain on the wall under the smiley face and a bullet hole on the right side of Sherlock's head. Directly into his brain, to shut down all thoughts.

Whitout Sherlock having known it, the final piece in the set had moved. Check mate.

At the end, Moriarty had won.

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Okay, so there might or there might not be a third part. One that gives some sort of closure, a so waited and deserved reunion. But I do not know, the fic is closed this way.

And yes, I hate myself.


End file.
